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That least understood and most variable of supernatural personae, The Witch, remains a source of fascination and fear the world over. They walk among us, plying their skills, stealing our hearts -and perhaps other pieces of us- for purposes known only to them. In this boiling brew, you’ll taste not only eye of newt and wing of bat, but wrathful scorn, summoned spirits, and pierced veils that bleed wonders dark and delicious. Straddle the whisk and travel the worlds of Witchcraft, Voodoo and eleven worlds ‘twixt. But be careful not to fall…in love or into the abyss.

HAIR SHIRT DRAG by Gordon WhiteDespite their power, the women of the Overhold family have gone to great lengths to be accepted by the rest of the town. As the coming out party for a new generation draws closer, however, it seems that some people might never fit in.

COMES THE RAIN by Gregory L. Norris
In 1961, a family is trapped at a rural farm. As their powerful matriarch lingers close to death, storm clouds gather over the house, and a powerful evil force descends, seeking vengeance.

NUMBER ONE ANGEL by Allison M. Dickson
Louise would do anything for Phelan, the mysterious new man in her life, but one woman stands in the way: her insufferable mama. But with just one dark act, one nasty little favor for Phelan, Mama won’t be anyone’s problem anymore, and Louise will win her place as Phelan’s most special girl.

UNTO THE EARTH by Patrick C. Greene
Landon loves his beautiful Haitian wife, Agnes, even finding her devotion to voodoo charming, with its positive-minded rituals that seem more like play-acting than actual ceremony.

HÄXENHAUS by Nick Kimbro
In 17th century Germany a man and his wife have lost a son. The culprit: witchcraft. When a strange black dog follows them home from where the witches are being interrogated, however, it might be just the fresh start needed to help them cope with their grief.

STORIES I TELL TO GIRLS by Michael G. Williams
Auntie Ann is the revered elder of The Book People, a coven of witches drawing power from the written word. Begging for their help, a dashing and sorrowful figure from the distant past reminds them the wise and unshakable crone was once a maiden.

THE RISING SON by James Glass
Cal had been an easy-going man until the night the woman he loved showed up to his secret society’s party with Crowley. Fueled by jealous rage, Cal did the unthinkable, summoning much more than the demon he had intended.

BEAUTIFUL, BROKEN THINGS by Rose Blackthorn
Trey has made plenty of mistakes in his life, and now he’s paying for them. A random meeting with a strange woman who seems to know more about him than is possible will change everything, and give him the possibility of getting back the most precious thing he has lost—the one person who really meant anything to him.

NOT THIS TIME by Mike Lester
Blood is thicker than water, so the saying goes…and sometimes the bonds of blood even outlast the grave…

INTO THE LIGHT by Solomon Archer
Elliot, a lonely transplant in rural Kansas, finds friendship with a dangerous group enthralled by an ancient power thirsty for sacrifice. With his sanity and the lives of those he loves on the line, Elliot decides the only way out is to take on a force far greater than nature itself.

SHE MAKES MY SKIN CRAWL by Shenoa Carroll-Bradd
Jamie’s wife is beautiful, passionate, and exotic, but sometimes her jealousy gets the better of her. And when it does, she punishes him in ways he never thought possible.

PIGEON by Eric Nash
Maddie followed the path straight to the Goddess; she knew the Goddess took care of her own.

PIG ROAST by Aaron Gudmunson
To boorish, boring Chet, food is everything–especially when it’s slathered in mustard. When he meets a beautiful woman who claims to be a master mustard-maker, he thinks all his dreams have come true… but as everyone knows dreams can swiftly become nightmares.

WRAPPED IN BLACK

Thirteen Tales of Witches and the Occult

THE RISING SON by James Glass

Crowley was a prick. Virgil Calahan, Jr. came to the conclusion as he watched the man move through the crowd, how everyone smiled and laughed at the poorly told jokes only because no one wanted to seem stupid to a foreigner. Moreover, he seethed at the way Cherry clung to the man’s arm in spite of the insipid, resinous cloud of scented oils permeating the air around him.
He knew he had no claim to the gorgeous redhead, they adhered to the tenets of polyamory, but to see her showering another man with affection – Crowley of all the people! It was too much. He slammed his drink glass on the bar top harder than was necessary and pretended it was Crowley’s face.
The bartender’s smile was tight as he silently refilled the empty glass and disappeared into the shadows once more. Calahan clutched the drink to his chest, his eyes narrowed to slits as he continued to watch the man he now thought of as his own personal arch-nemesis.
“Chin up, old boy, she will be back.”
Calahan turned to see his father, one Virgil Calahan Senior, lounging against the bar. The old man also watched Cherry, the lustful expression not one his son had seen on his father’s usually bland but cheerful visage.
“But once a man has spent a night with the likes of her, one cannot return to any semblance of normal.” At his son’s sharp intake of breath he added, “Oh come now, old man, you can’t mean to tell me you had no idea we’ve all had a taste of Cherry?”
“When?!”
“The night after your birthday. She was very… accommodating.”
Calahan the son glared into his whiskey and said nothing, but he could feel his cheeks becoming red with fury. If it had been anyone but his father who spoke those words, the man would be nursing a black eye and possibly a broken jaw at that very moment. He cleared his throat and downed the rest of the amber liquid, then slammed the glass again on the bar top, this time hard enough to send a shard of glass flying into the space between himself and the gathering of revelers.
His father placed a hand over his. “Son, it was nothing personal, merely a good time.”
At Calahan’s continued silence, the older man studied his son’s face. Sudden realization dawned in his piercing blue eyes.
“Good heavens, boy, you can’t have fallen in love with her!”
Calahan pulled away from his father’s touch. “Well what if I had? What good does it do me now, knowing she’s been with everyone I know?”
“Cal,” his father’s voice was gentle, “She is a whore.”
Calahan rolled his eyes, his voice choked by sarcasm. “No kidding?”
“What I mean to say is she is a prostitute. We bought her for you for your birthday.” His father’s expression was filled with pity, and he patted Calahan’s arm, frowning. “I’m sorry, son. We thought you knew.”
With that, the old man wandered off into the crowd and Calahan stared after his father, disgust mingling with hate and whiskey in his churning gut. As Crowley’s accent carried over the crowd he gritted his teeth and stormed out onto the balcony of the lushly appointed hotel. He caught Cherry’s eye as he passed by her, and a small frown curled the corners of her perfectly drawn red lips.
The combination of being away from the party-goers and the chill of the night air cleared his anger only slightly, and he glared over the railing of the balcony into the glittering few electric lights mingling with gaslight below. He heard the latch of the French doors click behind him and he sighed, expecting Cherry to approach him with excuses. Instead his brother touched his shoulder.
The angry words meant for Cherry died on Calahan’s lips at the sight of his sibling. The younger man seemed upset by something, and the signs of laudanum addiction colored his pale features. This was a new addition to a chaotic repertoire of drug use.
“Billy?” Calahan said in way of greeting.
“Cal.” His brother stared over the railing with fever eyes and pulled at his clothes as if they didn’t fit quite right.
“Are you feeling,” Calahan paused, unable to say the word he had intended ‘anything’, instead substituting, “unwell?”
“You can say that, I suppose.” He spun to face Calahan and his elder brother stepped back as if physically assaulted by the mania creeping into his voice.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Calahan said, voice quiet so as not to upset the delicate balance of his brother’s mood. On a typical day the young man’s behavior was erratic, partly due to his mental state and partly as a result of his self-medication.
Billy laughed and shook his head. “The problem is, Cal, I have not yet had enough to drink!” He stared at the lights below for a moment, his voice dreamy when he at last asked, “Have you spoken with Crowley yet?”

Read the entire story in

WRAPPED IN BLACK: Thirteen Tales of Witches and the Occult

RELEASE DATE: October 18, 2014

James Glass enjoys his privacy, but frequently finds that he plays an unwilling host to Xircon. When not visiting red light districts of red light cities, he can frequently be found contemplating life in the seediest of libraries.

PRAISE FOR The Metatron Mysteries and James Glass

“A perfect blend of film noir mystery and supernatural politics.”

“He did it again. Twist and tension. Glass builds each chapter with tiny layers of conflict, adding jigsaw hints to the mystery, spice to the sensual (oh yeah he do), and driving the whole thing toward a solid reveal that closes this case, opens the next, and leaves just enough intrigue to demand the third book.”

“When I read James Glass’ first tale of the The Murdered Metatron, I was over the top happy with the great read. But The Dispossessed is even better. The same horror, humor and detective work in the first one is back but the author has taken his skills at the craft to an even higher level.”

“James Glass is one of the best new authors of the Millennium.”

“James Glass exhibits a beautiful command of language to draw a full and vibrant picture.”

“I used to be a story-teller,” he says bitterly, almost as if he has read my thoughts of him.

We continue walking, the ocean’s roar made more deafening by the darkness of the night. The salt spray clings to me, and I can feel its sting in my lungs. I wonder about this old man on the beach, the tight-lipped edges of his mouth stained by laudanum, and his face made haggard by life instead of by nature.

“I was famous in my time,” he explains to me. “They called me Artaud, giving me a god’s status until I told the story they didn’t want to hear.” READ MORE

NOW AVAILABLE!!

Thirteen Tales of Spectres, Ghosts, and Spirits

Tragedy begets terror, then circles back on itself, and a cycle is born that ripples through the worlds of the living and dead eternally, until satisfied by love, tears–or blood…

The creators of Wrapped In Red have struck again, unfurling thirteen gossamer shrouds of woe and weirdness, laying bare the faces of fear that watch and wait in the shadows of cemeteries, the corners of ancient structures, the thoughts we wish we didn’t think . Some will crawl under your skin, some will batter you senseless with limitless otherworldly power, others will walk a line as thin as the veil between us and them.

Leave the lights on for this collection–but know that no precaution will keep its tales from haunting you even into the noonday sun…